Let's play murder
by N.a.brun
Summary: Sherlock has always kept his heart under lock and key. But when murders occur, and its all Sherlock's fault, when the people he cares about die around him, will he finally show his true emotions?
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or any of its characters. Unfortunately ;)**_

 **Prologue**

 _Sherlock looked around quickly, assessing his situation. His pursuers had forced him down a secluded alleyway. Sherlock realized with a shock, he didn't know where he was going. He had never seen these building surrounding him before. He heard the cock of a rifle, and dodged to his immediate right. The bullet went harmlessly over where his head had been. He saw his masked pursuer in his mind's eye, he retraced the trajectory of the bullet, and concluded that he had intentionally missed him. Why?_

 _Another bullet whizzed close to his right ear, startling him. "No!" he heard a rough voice command._

 _Sherlock's feet pounded the ground, he knew his pursuers had the advantage. He was running out of time, and they were slowly gaining on him. He made a split-second decision and took a left turn. Sherlock found himself facing a brick wall.  
_

 _He let a soft moan of frustration escape him, and turned to face his foes. Four men stood facing him, wearing identical black suits. They're faces were obscured with leering masks, resembling four snarling wolves._

 _Sherlock knew he had no time. He scanned each man with a practiced eye. Each identical gun had a expensive silencer on it, obviously British made. The first man to sherlock's right had a slight limp, as he was leaning heavily on his left foot. Each suit was freshly washed, possibly in the last hour, or so. Which meant this was no on-the-spot attack. Someone hired these imbeciles to find him. They had been fairly obvious tracking him, but inevitably had surrounded him, and forced him into a corner._

 _One man stepped forward._

 _The leader, Sherlock thought._

 _"Now Mr. Holmes," He said. "I congratulate you on that chase. You're quite fast aren't you... Unfortunately we haven't been hired to give you a medal."_

 _"Oh really? That's to bad. Maybe I should have a little talk with your employer." Sherlock sneered._

 _"Yeah? Well we have a little gift for you, Mr. Moriarty sends his love."_

 _The masked man reached his hand out to his companion, and was handed a medical syringe full of dark blue liquid. Sherlock scrawled frantically through his options mentally._

 _1\. the syringe had a deadly poison_

 _2\. possibly acid_

 _3\. Moriarty finally decided he wanted sherlock dead_

 _4\. if he went fo-_

 _The man jumped forward with surprising speed, and sent Sherlock crashing against the wall. He winced as the brick jarred his shoulder blade, but leapt back up again. Sherlock noted his opponent was ambidextrous, holding the syringe in his left hand, while swinging his right hand at sherlock's fa-_

 _Sherlock ducked and sent an uppercut against the man's elbow, fracturing the joint. The man yelled in pain and backed off, but was then replaced with two more of the goons, who leapt on sherlock. He was pushed back on the ground, his two arms pinned beneath the men. His vision became hazy for a moment, and he felt a sharp stinging pain on the back of his head, on the asphalt._

 _The injured man with the syringe approached again, clutching his elbow. Sherlock struggled, and tried to kick out at him with his legs and missed. He knelt beside Sherlock on the ground, and smiled through his mask._

 _"Nighty Night Mr. Holmes." He said triumphantly._

 _One of the men, pushed Sherlock's head to the side, exposing his neck. The wolves eyes glaring at him seemed to turn red, as the man plunged the syringe into his jugular vein, and emptied it into his bloodstream._

 _Nothing._

 _Fire. Sherlock was burning. Every inch of him burned, and he screamed._

 _He._

 _couldn't._

 _think._

 _Then he was frozen, drowning, he couldn't move a muscle. He saw the moon face high above him, then it all faded away..._


	2. Puppetmaster

Sherlock awoke. His eyelids flickered open, and was met with glaring sunlight. White fluffy clouds floated high above him. He glanced to his right, and realized he was laying on a park bench in a garden. The memory of the wolf-faced assailants flew back into his mind. Sherlock's eyes widened and he tried to sit up. Nothing happened. He tried to move his limbs, still nothing happened.

 _I'm still paralyzed_ , Sherlock thought.

He shut his eyes, and tried to go to his mind palace. After a moment, Sherlock realized he was still staring into his eyelids. What drug could do this to him?

 _Nothing I've ever experienced before. Moriarty did this... why didn't he just kill me?_

Sherlock concluded that the drug he had been injected with must have some lasting effects. He took stock of his body. He couldn't feel anything, not the sun on his face, nor the pain of his very likely concussion. He suddenly heard his phone vibrating in his pocket. He unconsciously tried to reach for it, and failed again.

A minute or two later, it vibrated for the second time.

 _How long will it take for someone to find me here?_ Sherlock thought.

Suddenly, and without warning, Sherlock sat up. His body swung his legs around, and stood off of the bench. Sherlock's eyes widened as he grasped what was happening.

 _Moriarty has control over my body! How is that possible?_

Sherlock tried to rationalize it out, as his unyielding hand reached into his pocket, and retrieved his phone. The screen read,

* * *

 **Come quick Sherlock, I need back up! I'm at London bridge, we were attacked! _Lestrade \- 3 minutes ago_**

 **Hurry please! _Lestrade \- 1 minute ago_**

* * *

Sherlock knew this wasn't possible, how was this happening? His hand replaced the phone, and from within his other pocket, drew out a gun. Sherlock was puzzled for a moment. That hadn't been in his coat before. Sherlock looked around with his eyes, and recognized his surroundings with horror. The park he was in was adjacent to the river Thames, which meant his was a five minute walk from the London bridge. Someone (a likely guess who) had placed him in the park, than gone and attacked Lestraude. But to what end?

It all clicked into place, as Sherlock's body started walking towards the bridge in the distance. Sherlock glanced down at the gun in his hand.

 _No!_

Moriarty was going to make him kill Lestrade, and who knows who else.


	3. London bridge is falling down

The first thing Sherlock noticed; there seemed to be no one on the streets. He was missing something big here. What had happened? A man with a wolf mask on his face, passed him on the road up to the bridge, and gave him but a passing glance. Sherlock was slightly panicking, he saw no plausible way out of the situation. He realized with a sardonic inner laugh, his dream had come true. He was trapped inside his own head. Now he was going to pay.

His body was walking with purposeful but jerky steps, like his limbs were being controlled by invisible strings- pulled by an omniscient puppetmaster. As Sherlock turned the final corner, he came upon an awful scene. Greg Lestrade was lying on the ground closest to him, cradling a bleeding arm to his chest. He was rapidly scooting away as a man advanced on him. It was the man from the road, who held a long bloody knife aloft from his chest. Sherlock's eyes were drawn to the limp body of Anderson lying in a puddle of blood. Dead.

The man looked up at Sherlock as he approached. It was one of the men that had attacked him earlier. "Ah, the calvary has arrived!"

Sherlock was momentarily relieved to see his own hand reach out to Lestrade, and help him up. Lestrade looked at him confusedly.

"Sherlock? What does he mean?"

Sherlock tried to answer, to tell him he wasn't in control-

"Sorry to tell you this mate, he's not here to help you." the man said maliciously.

Lestrade looked between the two of them. From Sherlock's unresponsive face, to the murderer's gleeful one.

"He's all yours Mr. Holmes."

Lestrade glanced at the man. "You've gone barmy! Sherlock isn't- Sherlock wouldn't-" he broke off and glanced down at the gun held in Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade said again. He slowly backed away from the both of them, drawing nearer to the edge of the bridge. "Please, what's wrong with you?"

 _I can't- stop! Please! I'm sorry- don't-_

Sherlock struggled against himself, as his arm... slowly raised the gun, pointed directly at Lestrade's heart. Lestrade looked at him in horror. He raised up his hands in a calming gesture. He backed up into the railing, and glanced down to the dark river water far below.

"Weighing your options?" the man scoffed.

Lestrade looked directly into Sherlock's eyes. "Please Sherlock, don't do this."

Sherlock shut his eyes, but that did nothing to alter his body's aim. His finger pulled the trigger, followed by the sound of the bullet, a pained grunt, and a soft _splash_ a few moments later.

 _... I'm so sorry..._

Sherlock cursed himself inwardly, how could he let this happen? How could he not have foreseen any of this? Now his friend had paid for his lapse in judgement. If only he had called for help when he noticed he was being followed. He had been cocky, and thought he could handle them.

"Nice shot Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock opened his eyes, hating the man.

"You know where your going next then don't you? Oh wait, you don't." The man smiled. "Better go catch a cab, say hullo to Mrs. Hudson for me."

He threw Sherlock a ten pound note, sherlock's hand snatching it out of the air on reflex. Sherlock spun around and went back the way he came. Silently screaming.


	4. Poison tea

Sherlock climbed out of the cab, and onto Baker Street. His body paused for a moment, allowing him to gaze up at the solid black door.

 **221B**

His home. Sherlock walked purposefully up the stairs, through the door, and into the foyer. His mind reeled with dread.

 _Please... No..._

Without warning his mouth opened and, "Mrs. Hudson?" He called.

 _NO! That's my voice!_

A hot prickly rage filled Sherlock's conciousness. It was one thing to control his body, but another matter entirely to control his voice. If Moriarty controlled his voice, he controlled Sherlock's life. He could do nothing but watch.

"Yes Sherlock dear?" Mrs. Hudson's responded from within her flat.

"Care to join me for some tea?"

It was quite strange hearing the words spoken, yet knowing he had not produced them. His baritone voice sounded alien, and foreign. Mrs. Hudson appeared in the door to her flat, and smiled at Sherlock.

"What's the occasion?"

"A thank you gesture."

Sherlock rolled his eyes un-noticed. Moriaty was doing a poor job pretending to be him. Sherlock bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time as Mrs. Hudson followed in his wake. He entered his flat, his body expertly navigating the looming piles of debis to the kitchen. Sherlock's hand reached for the small cabinet where he had a secret stash of china- saved for special occasions. Nobody knew about it, not even john. That gave Sherlock pause.

 _How did Moriarty know?..._

Sherlock spun around, and practically skipped over to his medcine cabinet.

 _Oh no._

Sherlock whiped the door open to reveal a plethora of poisons. His hand floated teasingly over the non-lethal poisons, but closed around a small container of botulinum. He inadvertently started whistling _The Thieving Magpie_ as he boiled water, and prepared the kettle. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and observed Mrs. Hudson smiling cheerily over at him from his armchair.

"You know Sherlock, this was very nice of you. But it was quite unexpected. You know... I didn't expect you home so early from... there..." Mrs. Hudson's face fell.

Sherlock was confused. He had told told Mrs. Hudson that morning he had no idea about when he was returning. He hadn't even told her his destination. Sherlock got an inkling that he was missing something. He laid out the tea cups upon the counter top, and turned his back to Mrs. Hudson. He lightly sprinkled a fatal dose upon her tea, then watching it float to the bottom.

Sherlock struggled, as his body walked slowly to Mrs. Hudson, in a literal death march. He sat down opposite of her and placed the tea tray between them. She shook her head, and put on a smile. She raised the cup to her lips and paused.

"You know I'm quite proud of you Sherlock. I thought the flat would be falling down around your ears with John in the hospital and all."

 _Wait what? What happened to John?_

"You know me Mrs. Hudson. I'm always ready for anything." he said.

Sherlock drank from his glass, as Mrs. Hudson drank from hers.

He did not want to see what happened next. He did not want to see her look of betrayal. His hand replaced the cup into his sacucer, and he closed his eyes. Unfortunately he could not stop his brain from analyzing the horrible retching sounds, and gasps, and the thud of Mrs. Hudson's body falling to the floor. A single tear leaked out from Sherock's eye.

 _He will pay Mrs. Hudson. I swear on my life._

Sherlock's body apparently did not want to stay stationary. Sherlock kept his eyes closed as his body stood up and left, still invisioning the moment Mrs. Hudson smiled at him and said she was proud.


End file.
